


No Promises

by peachbuttz



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachbuttz/pseuds/peachbuttz
Summary: It had always been him looking for something more, something that wasn’t there.
A fic about my boss Fran, Stilwater's favorite police chief and their inevitable break upI haven't written a fic in years.





	

  
“Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you?” The second Troy had gotten her into his apartment he’d snapped. Too many fucking calls about the saints since her return. There hadn’t been a moment of rest for him since she’d woken up.

“Fuck I don’t know.” She’s on his bed pulling off the hoodie he had thrown at her so she wouldn’t be recognized on their way up. He doesn’t want to watch the way her muscles move under her skin as she does but it’s hard. It’d be so much easier just to fuck it out. Neither of them had ever been good with their emotions when they fought.

“Why are you like this?” He asked rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. Too fucking old to be doing this.

“I don’t know.” She answers him without any real thought and that annoys him too. She didn’t think before she did anything. She and Johnny were more alike than he cared to acknowledge.

“Anyone catches you in my apartment and I’m fucked.” He says it but it lacks any of the feeling he wished it had. Who the fuck cared anymore if they saw her at his place.

“You’re fucked.” Fran laughs and unties her hair, only to put it back up again in a loose bun. He traces the scars on her neck with his eyes, notices the marks of skin grafts from the accident. Troy doesn’t want to think about that. Not right now.

“Yeah I’m fucked, I got one of Stilwater’s biggest criminals half naked on my bed.” Again, it doesn’t carry nearly the amount of anger he wants it to.

“I could be all the way naked.” She’s trying to be seductive and part of it is working. But its halfhearted, he wants to kiss her so badly.

“For fuck’s sake Fran.” His voice is strained now, he hates how weak he sounds.

She went quiet and stared at the floor, examining the bruises forming on her hands. “I’m messed up Troy.”

“You’re tellin' me.” He lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag, watching her from across the room. He let the silence grow between them in the meantime. She wasn’t the college drop out he and Julius had picked up years ago that’s for sure. He would have killed to have her in just a bra and shorts on his bed before the accident, now he was just tired.

“It don’t have to be like this.” He broke the silence himself when she had nothing to say.

“Like what?” She lifted her head in his direction.

 “You, like this, bruised up and looking for a fight every second.” Another drag, “Some gangbanger who’s gonna end up dead in the street.” Christ she was beautiful though. How many times had they laid in bed together tracing bruises and scars? He was sure he could map them out by memory alone.

“Some gangbanger,” She laughed and her voice cracked slightly. “Do I look like some fucking gangbanger to you Troy?” He thought about her back at the prison rooftop, not surprised that she had managed to get up there but at how frayed she looked. She was coming apart at the seams and the two of them seemed to be the only ones noticing.

“You look like a fucking wreck.”

“Maybe I am…” She went quiet again pulling on each of her fingers until they cracked. He put out his cigarette in the ash tray on the table and crossed the room to kneel in front of her.

“You could give it up,” He said his voice low and soft. He could tell she wanted to be angry, wanted to be outraged but all she could manage was pure exhaustion. “You and me, we could really be something. No more pretending.” She looked up and locked eyes with him.

“You and me.” She whispered, her eyes darted nervously toward the door before she licked her lips. He imagine if he kissed her right now she’d taste like blood.  
  
“Yeah…me and you…we could get a house, fuck we could get out of stilwater.”

“Out of stilwater,” She repeated, away from the saints. The intention behind his words went unsaid, yet they seemed to fill the room. He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She returned the embrace, gripping at the back of his shirt.

“We wouldn’t have to do this anymore.” Fuck he was getting too old for this. But they had something, and the familiar way she fit into his arms felt good, even if it was wrong.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She whispered into his shoulder, her grip on him like a vice. Troy felt his chest tighten even though in the back of his mind he had known she’d never take his offer. Too long, it had been too long. If he had just gotten to her sooner maybe…

“What happened to us Franny?” He sighed pulling away. Troy wondered what ‘us’ had even meant between the two of them. He thought back to when things had been better, things he missed: pet names, sleeping together without the sex, waking up and realizing she hadn’t left because they couldn’t be seen together.

“I fucked up.” She laughed wiping her eyes. Nah baby, he thinks while resisting the urge to wipe away her tears himself. I fucked up.

“This is it then.” Not a question but a statement. There wasn’t any coming back from it.

“Yeah...this is it. I’m sorry I couldn’t…” He wanted to tell her to stop apologizing. It had always been him looking for something more, something that wasn’t there. “Sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.” Troy had imagined a house with a fenced in yard, maybe some kids or a dog. Her future hadn’t involved him for a long time. If only the boys could see him now.

Troy watched the hesitance in her movements, wondering if she was thinking about what this meant for them. Fran stood up and he stayed crouched on the floor, looking at the now empty space on his bed. He wondered how long his room would smell like her after she left.

She stalled at the door for a second hand on the knob in a loose grip. It’d be easy to call her back right now. He thought. Keep it casual, fuck around while avoiding his feelings. Not forever, maybe even only for a few more weeks, it wouldn’t be enough though. They’d never be enough for each other.

“Just don’t…” She stopped at his voice, less sure than he had anticipated it being. They locked eyes again and he felt like throwing up. “Just take care of yourself alright?”

She opened the door and stepped outside before turning to answer him, his eyes drifted to the tattoo across her stomach: 3rd Street Saints. The beginning and the end of them.

“No promises.” Her voice was quiet, and he closed his eyes before she shut the door.

“No promises.” He repeats to an empty room.

**Author's Note:**

> If this is received well I'll probably write more? Or I'll write more anyway but I'll post it if y'all like this.


End file.
